


Happy Together

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Accidental Child Acquisition, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Fighting, Fix-it fic, Found Family, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Living Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, Pining, Post Season 2, Spying, Subterfuge, handjobs, semi canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 17:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30143070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Hughie agrees to help Butcher raise Ryan, all while trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy in his life.Of course, things are never that simple. Not when Butcher's involved.(Updates Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays!)
Relationships: Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell
Comments: 30
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW I'm so excited to share this w/ y'all! 
> 
> As some of y'all have noticed, I recently got caught up on s2 and I was SO let down by the fact the season didn't end with The Boys becoming a lovely little dysfunctional family to Ryan, so I needed to rectify that. this is my magnum opus that tackles that. It is probably far softer than it has any right to be, and is deeply self-indulgent, but rest assured that there is drama and violence and intrigue to be had! 
> 
> This fic is complete, I'm just staggering posting. I'm posting 2 chapters today, and then new chapters will be posted Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays until it's complete! The explicit rating is for chapters to come, and tags may be added cuz I'm sure I've forgotten some haha. 
> 
> HUGE thanks to Han for beta'ing and cheerleading! this wouldn't have happened w/o you. Also enormous thanks to everyone in the Boys fandom who has read and enjoyed my fics so far, your combined loveliness has kept me motivated while I cranked out this ~60k beast in like 2 weeks haha. 
> 
> I'm really so proud of this and, again, SO excited to share this. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> That's enough from me, let the fun begin!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It still takes him a second to fully register what he’s seeing, and he gapes at the sight until Butcher scoffs.
> 
> “You gonna let us in for a cuppa, or what?”
> 
> “We don’t have any tea,” Hughie’s dad chimes in.
> 
> “I,” Hughie starts. His gaze drops to the mop of blond hair beside Butcher. The mop of blond hair Hughie had fully expected to never see again, let alone on his doorstep with Butcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the adventure begins!

Moving back into his dad’s place doesn’t feel like the failure Hughie expects. Maybe it’s because of all he’s done since he last lived here—murder, subterfuge, a variety of other crimes both petty and otherwise—or maybe it’s because he knows this is where he belongs. He’s not cut out for a life like the one he’s leaving behind. Sure, the adrenaline is a rush and it feels good to save the world, but it’s not sustainable. Too much danger, too much disappointment. Hughie likes domesticity, anyway; he enjoys some kind of normalcy, something working with Butcher and the Boys could never give him.

He’s looking forward to his interview with Neuman’s office. It feels like it’ll be the balance of both things: normalcy and saving the world. He knows working for a campaign office isn’t going to be the grand sort of saving the day he’s used to, but Hughie thinks that might be better. He’s excited about it, which is a feeling he hasn’t experienced in far too long. Excitement isn’t the same as adrenaline, or nerves, or fear.

He’s been at his dad’s for two days and is still in the middle of fixing up his room when there’s a knock on the front door. Hughie doesn’t pay it any mind, singularly focused on his task, until his dad calls out for him.

“Hughie?” His dad sounds mildly alarmed, which is how he always sounds, but Hughie still grows tense. “You’ve got visitors.”

Hughie bites his bottom lip. He could ask his dad to turn whoever it is away—if it were Annie, or MM, or Frenchie, they probably would’ve texted first—but his dad hates conflict. Sighing, Hughie drops his armful of laundry back onto his bed and makes his way toward the door. He has to sidestep the various piles of clutter in his room before he reaches the hallway. He takes another deep breath before continuing, and the hallway seems impossibly long and narrow.

Eventually, he makes it to his dad’s side. His dad gives him a confused, sheepish grin and steps aside. Hughie takes his time peering around the door to look at the so-called visitors.

His heart stops. If he weren’t so used to that happening, he’d maybe be more alarmed. It still takes him a second to fully register what he’s seeing, and he gapes at the sight until Butcher scoffs.

“You gonna let us in for a cuppa, or what?”

“We don’t have any tea,” Hughie’s dad chimes in.

“I,” Hughie starts. His gaze drops to the mop of blond hair beside Butcher. The mop of blond hair Hughie had fully expected to never see again, let alone on his doorstep with Butcher. “Dad, uh, why don’t you make a pot of coffee?”

“Right, of course.” His dad hurries off to the kitchen and Hughie takes a step back, welcoming Butcher and Ryan into the apartment with a shaky sweep of his arm. “Anybody care for sugar or milk?”

“No,” Hughie calls back, because he still remembers how Butcher takes his coffee. Hughie usually likes a bit of sugar and cream with his, but he doesn’t think it’d be good for him to have caffeine right now. “Grab a coke, too, please,” he calls with another glance at Ryan.

He doesn’t hear his dad’s response. He watches, still gobsmacked, as Butcher and Ryan move toward the living room. Ryan sits on the couch after a moment’s hesitation, then looks up between Butcher and Hughie with wide curious eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Hughie asks, voice quiet so his dad won’t hear. “What is he doing here?” He can’t help the way his tone softens. He didn’t get a chance to know Ryan very well, but he feels for the kid. Dad’s a homicidal maniac, mom’s dead, and all he’s got in this world is a merry band of misfits supremely unfit to raise a kid. And really, he wasn’t even going to get that, because Butcher had decided he didn’t want to raise the kid.

Which makes their presence here all the more confusing.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Butcher says like it’s that simple, that easy. “Need you to come with us.”

Hughie scowls. “Excuse me?”

Butcher isn’t deterred by Hughie’s anger; he never is. He didn’t even flinch when Hughie exploded on him, a week ago now, when Butcher first told him he had no plans to keep Ryan. “Mallory’s got us a house on the outskirts of the city, nice little suburban place. Kids his age around, a school that can be discreet, the whole shebang.”

Hughie feels dizzy on his feet and stumbles to lean against his dad’s recliner. His dad is still in the kitchen, even though the sounds of the coffee pot rumbling to life have since stopped. He’s grateful for his dad’s aversion to conflict, for the privacy it grants them.

“What?” Hughie finally manages to ask.

Butcher heaves a great sigh, as though Hughie is the one being an imposition. As though Hughie is the root of all his problems and then some. “Gonna raise the kid, lay low for a bit. Need you to come with.”

Hughie swallows but his mouth is dry, his throat clicking. “Why me? Why not MM, or Frenchie?” MM in particular is far better suited to raise a kid. He’s kind and tough in all the right ways, a real picturesque dad.

Butcher shakes his head. “Can’t take MM away from his family again like that, not so soon. He said he’d come by to lend a hand now n’then, but he can’t be around full time. Don’t even know where Frenchie has fucked off to, took Kimiko with him.” Butcher looks angry about the last bit—maybe even a little hurt. Hughie wants to revel in it, wants to delight in Butcher’s pain for even a second, but can’t bring himself to do it.

“I just got back,” Hughie says. “I’m still unpacking. I can’t just leave my dad again. And I have a job interview next week.”

“We aren’t that far from the city, you can still have your nice little job. Ryan will be at school, and I.” Butcher stops. He’s hiding something, but that’s hardly anything new. Hughie doesn’t call him out on it. “Point is,” he starts again, “won’t be hard.”

Hughie scoffs. “Right, of course. Because it’s just so easy for me to uproot my life _again_.” He bristles but forces himself to tamp down the anger. He doesn’t want to start a shouting match—or worse, a fist fight—with Ryan watching. Ryan, who looks so sad and so tired and reminds Hughie painfully of himself after his mom left.

Butcher’s lips twist into a sneer but he doesn’t say anything else. He looks away, arms crossed tight over his chest. The gesture fills Hughie with rage, like the rage he felt when he decked Butcher on the boat, like the rage he felt when stupid fucking Lamplighter set himself on fire. It’s still a bit of a foreign feeling, one that scares Hughie with its strength.

“Hughie,” Ryan says, and _god_ even his voice is small. It makes Hughie’s heart fucking ache. “You don’t have to. Mallory seems really nice.”

And if that doesn’t fucking cinch it. The kid is trying to give him an _out_ , like Hughie wasn’t the one who was the most gung-ho to take care of him in the first place. Really, Hughie has known from the moment Butcher asked that he’d say yes. He can’t leave Ryan behind, can’t leave him in Butcher’s care alone and can’t expect the CIA to keep him safe. Hughie bites back another sigh and scrubs a hand over his face.

“It’s not secluded, right? It’s a real suburbia?”

Butcher doesn’t look at him as he answers. “A regular ol’ Pleasantville. Bout an hour out from the city. Protection will be around, but not seen, to keep a low profile.”

Hughie rubs his hands over his face again. He can’t believe he’s about to do this. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it for Ryan.”

He says it to hurt Butcher specifically. Butcher, who’s said he needs Hughie but never seems to really mean it. Butcher, who was ready to drop this kid in someone else’s lap because he’s too much of a coward to deal with it himself.

He doesn’t know if he succeeds. Butcher’s expression doesn’t change. They’re interrupted by Hughie’s dad, then, with three cups of black coffee and a coke from the fridge all gathered on a tray. His dad takes one of the mugs for himself and looks between the three of them curiously.

“You ever had soda before, Ryan?” Hughie asks with a nod to the bright red can.

Ryan shakes his head slowly. “Mom didn’t like soda.”

Hughie’s throat gets tight for a moment but he powers on. “Go ahead, it’s all yours.”

All eyes are on Ryan as the kid reaches out to take the can, as he takes a sip. It’s probably kind of weird, how they’re all focused on him, but it’s not like there’s anything else to look at. Ryan’s eyes widen as he drinks half the can in one go. He opens his mouth to say something but all that comes out is a burp.

Hughie grins. He thinks he might even see the corner of Butcher’s mouth twitch. “Slow down on the rest, or you’ll give yourself a stomachache.”

Ryan nods seriously. “Okay, Hughie.”

Hughie looks at his dad, who’s watching him with a sad sort of gaze. “Dad, can we talk in the kitchen?”

His dad nods and leads the way. Hughie pauses at the threshold of the living room to address Butcher.

“Drink the coffee.” Even though it doesn’t really matter. Not like Hughie’s going to drink his own. But it feels good to say, and it feels better to watch Butcher nod and reach for the baby blue mug. Hughie doesn’t follow his dad into the kitchen until he sees Butcher take a sip.

His dad is waiting for him by the fridge, tucked into the corner of the kitchen furthest from the living room. “So, you’re off again then?”

Hughie rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess so.”

His dad looks worried as ever, but with an undercurrent of something else. “Who’s the kid?”

“Ah, that’s Ryan. It’s complicated.” _He’s Butcher’s deceased wife’s son born of rape_ doesn’t exactly roll of the tongue.

Thankfully, his dad isn’t the type to ask unnecessary questions. “You’re good with him. A real natural.” And that’s what the undercurrent is: pride.

The realization makes Hughie’s eyes burn, tears threatening to gather in the corners of his eyes. Instead he stalks forward to hug his dad—he really doesn’t do this enough, especially not since he’s been on the run for months on end. “We’ll come by and visit. I won’t disappear this time, I promise.”

His dad holds him close and tight, patting his back. “I trust you, Hughie. You’re a good kid.”

Hughie hugs his dad for a little longer, a little tighter, before stepping back. “I’m gonna pack some things for tonight, but I’ll be back soon to get some other stuff.”

“Come by as often as you need. And, if you ever need a babysitter…” His dad trails off which a sheepish sort of shrug. “I’m maybe not the best role model, but I can’t be that bad, right?”

“You’re a great role model, dad,” Hughie says with conviction even though it’s certainly not true. He still loves his dad, though, and knows he’d be a good influence on Ryan. “I love you.”

His dad hides his grin in a sip of his coffee. “Love you too, son.”

Hughie slips out of the kitchen through the side door and hurries down the hallway back to his room. He sighs at the sorry state of affairs; his dad had left it as it was after Hughie trashed it, so it still needs to be cleaned up. All of his clothes are a bit musty from disuse, and after destroying all his Supe merch he doesn’t exactly have many personal items to speak of.

He digs a suitcase out of his closet and tosses it onto his bed. He’s haphazardly packing things into it, pajamas and underwear and a few nicer clothes for his interview, when he feels eyes on him.

“What,” he asks, tone flat.

Butcher doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches Hughie shove clothes into the suitcase. He only speaks up when Hughie starts trying to cram a pillow on top of it all. “The house has beds n’pillows, fully furnished.”

Hughie stops. He has half a mind to try and get the pillow into the suitcase anyway, just to be contrary. He knows it won’t fit though, and he’ll just end up looking absurd. He tosses it away and it hits the wall by his bed with a soft thud.

Butcher seems to have finally found his voice, though. “I don’t get you.”

“What’s not to get?” Hughie says as he shuts the suitcase, drawing the zipper closed in one long pull.

“You bit my bloody head off when I told you I was gonna give the kid to Mallory, and now you’re pussyfooting around stepping up to the plate.”

Hughie grits his teeth but the words come tumbling out anyway. “It’s not Ryan I have a problem with. I was ready to help take care of him a week ago, and I still am.” Hughie doesn’t turn to face Butcher. He feels embarrassingly close to tears but he swallows the waver in his voice. “Maybe I just don’t appreciate you bursting into my life whenever you goddamn feel like it and expecting me to be at your every beck and call. I’m not your fucking puppet, or your slave, or your _canary_. I’m my own person, with my own life, and I’m sick of you commandeering shit like you own everything.”

Hughie’s hands clench into fists and he has to breathe deep and focus to get them to unclench. “If I hadn’t thought Mallory would say no, I would’ve just taken Ryan myself.” It never would’ve worked—the apartment is too small, and right now Hughie can’t afford a place of his own. He’s also pretty sure he’s not equipped to handle raising a kid all by himself. In his mind, if he had asked to take Ryan on his own, he still would’ve had MM, Frenchie, even Annie helping him. 

Not that this situation is much better. After the fight they had—after all the reflection Hughie has done on his relationship with Butcher—raising a kid alone in a house with the other man is far from the ideal. But it’s better than Ryan being with people he doesn’t know at all, or worse Ryan being raised by Vought and Homelander.

“I’m not doing this because _you_ asked,” Hughie adds with a note of finality in his voice. He heaves the suitcase off the bed. He finally turns to look at Butcher and manages to catch the split-second expression of hurt on his face. It’s in the furrow of his brows, the downward curve of his lips. It’s barely different from his usual angry look, but just different enough for Hughie to spot. He expects to feel relief, but he only feels sick to his stomach.

“Got it,” Butcher says. He pushes off from the doorway and turns around. His boots thud heavily against the floor to the living room.

Hughie casts a last look at his room before pulling the handle out of the suitcase and dragging it behind him. His dad is sitting in his recliner, with Ryan still on the couch. The coke can is back on the tray, probably empty, along with the baby blue mug of Butcher’s and the pale-yellow mug meant for Hughie. Both mugs are empty, and it shouldn’t strike Hughie as _kind_ , that Butcher drank both cups—it’s just coffee, for fuck’s sake—but it does. Some sort of strange, twisted kindness. The only sort Butcher can offer, it seems. 

His dad rises from the recliner and tugs Hughie into a hug before goodbyes can even start. “See you soon, alright?” His dad says as he pulls back from the hug, clapping both hands on Hughie’s shoulders.

“Course, dad. I’ll text you, keep you posted.”

“You do that, Hughie.” His dad smiles at him, then looks to Butcher. “You take care of them both, alright?”

Hughie can’t help the way his eyes widen; it’s the sternest he’s ever heard his dad. Butcher doesn’t seem affected by the tone, but he takes Hugh’s outstretched hand for a shake and nods gruffly.

Hughie’s dad turns to Ryan then and grins at him. “It was nice to meet you, Ryan.”

“You too, Mr. Campbell,” Ryan says with a small smile of his own.

“Bye, dad,” Hughie says as he grabs his coat from the rack.

His dad waves them off, already settling in to watch his _Remington Steele_ reruns again. Hughie holds the front door open for Ryan and Butcher and shuts it after he slips out with them. It feels faintly like closing the book on another chapter of his life, one that only lasted a few days somehow, and yet felt impossibly long.

Hughie sighs. “Let’s go then.”

Butcher stares at him for only a moment before turning on his heel and heading toward a sleek, black SUV. Ryan falls in step with Hughie, even though they’re quiet as they follow a few paces behind Butcher.

“Thank you,” Ryan says as Butcher clambers into the driver’s seat and the car roars to life.

Hughie reaches out, hesitating for a second before ruffling Ryan’s hair. The kid lets out a surprised giggle. 

“It’s no problem,” Hughie tells him honestly. He doesn’t say how he wanted to do this all along, he doesn’t say that it was Butcher’s idea to get rid of him. He just opens the door for Ryan and smiles at him before shutting it. He loads his suitcase into the trunk, then slinks into the passenger seat while pointedly avoiding looking at Butcher.

Which is fine, because Butcher doesn’t even spare him a glance.

The car ride is tense, to say the least. Ryan seems content in the quiet; if he notices the tension, he’s smart enough not to mention it. Butcher doesn’t even put on the radio, and Hughie doesn’t want to start a fight while they’re trapped in such a confined space. A thought hits him, though, as they pass the city limits in utter silence. He can introduce Ryan to Billy Joel. The thought makes his chest hurt in the way Billy Joel always does; even now, it’s hard to think of his mom without a little bit of pain. But this makes him excited, gives him a little hope. He really has no idea what to expect, and he’s rapidly realizing he’s yet again rushed into a decision that’s all Butcher’s fault.

But when he glances back at Ryan and sees the kid watching the world fly by through the window, he can’t bring himself to regret his choice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to be scared of Butcher, okay?” Hughie searches the kid’s eyes for understanding but isn’t surprised to find it absent. “He’s not going to hurt you, I promise. He’s just in pain, too. He’s hurting.”
> 
> Ryan nods slowly.
> 
> “We’ll keep you safe, Ryan, I promise.” Hughie reaches out and claps a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, feeling for all the world just like his father. His words don’t feel empty, though. He means them, will say them every day if it makes the kid feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~setting into domesticity~

The house is _nice_. Better than Hughie expected. Maybe it’s because everywhere he’s lived with Butcher so far—from vans to hotel rooms to decrepit basements—has been _so bad_ , he just assumed that was par for the course. But true to Butcher’s word, they’re in a real suburb. A cul-de-sac, even, sitting in a nice if slightly eerie loop of houses. It’s a bit like Butcher’s aunt’s neighborhood, actually, which isn’t so bad. The house has a two-car garage and a small front lawn, a porch with a hammock, a mailbox at the end of the driveway. It’s everything Hughie expects the American dream to be.

It’s a little unsettling, but sort of thrilling, too.

Hughie’s so caught up in staring at the house, he doesn’t even realize Ryan’s already run inside or that Butcher’s got his suitcase from the trunk.

“I can get that,” Hughie says as he watches Butcher drag the suitcase up the driveway. The older man just grunts and keeps pulling it along, _thud-thud-thudding_ it up the porch steps and into the house. Hughie can’t help casting a glance around, as though Black Noir or Homelander might appear in the blink of an eye. There’s no one, though. Down the road it sounds like someone might be mowing their lawn, and someone in their little loop has their television on blast with a door open because Hughie can hear the strings of MTV playing faintly.

Hughie hurries after Butcher and Ryan but finds himself shocked again when he actually enters the house.

“This is…” He can’t stop staring, can’t stop his mouth from gaping.

The foyer is small but nice, a rug to wipe their feet on and a small rack for shoes along with a coat rack. The décor looks sparse, he notes as he walks from the foyer to the living room, but that’s okay. The living room has a television, a recliner, a plush looking couch. There’s a window on one wall, beside a sliding glass door, that gives a nice view into their backyard, luscious green but nothing special. Hughie’s so caught up in exploring the downstairs of the house, he doesn’t even realize Butcher and Ryan are nowhere to be found.

He makes his way back toward the foyer where the stairs to the upper level are. None of the stairs even creak, which shouldn’t be so novel but it is. The upstairs is just as scarcely decorated, the walls are all beige and the carpet a slightly darker brown. He stands at the top of the stairs and counts the doorways in the hall. Five, with one immediately to his right and the last one being at the end of the hallway straight across from him.

Butcher comes out of one room suddenly, empty-handed. He taps the door when he sees Hughie and says, “This is your room.” As he approaches Hughie, he gestures to each door. “Guest bathroom, Ryan’s room, my room.”

“What about the room at the end?”

“My office.” Butcher says it with a roll of his eyes and Hughie can’t quite tell if it’s meant to be a joke. “Need to get groceries, since that’s the one thing Mallory couldn’t be arsed to provide.”

Hughie blinks. “Okay, should we come with?”

But Butcher’s already starting down the stairs, shaking his head. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Hughie stands at the top of the stairs. There’s a strange mixture of confusion, apprehension, and excitement swirling in his gut.

 _This is what you wanted_ , he tells himself, even though it’s not exactly what he pictured. He’s saved from his internal crisis by Ryan’s bedroom door opening. The kid has stripped off the jacket he had on and is clad in just a t-shirt and jeans.

“Hey,” he says, stopping when he sees Hughie.

“Hey,” Hughie replies, “you ever listen to Billy Joel?”

* * *

That’s how Butcher finds them, who-knows-how-many-hours later. Hughie doesn’t know if it’s just that Ryan hasn’t been exposed to a ton of music in his life or if he really likes Billy Joel as much as Hughie does, but they end up dancing around the living room with “It’s Still Rock ‘n’ Roll to Me” blaring from Voughtify on the television. They’re so lost in it, neither of them actually hears the front door open. Hughie only realizes Butcher’s around when the grocery bags slam onto the countertop and the other man calls out, “Oi, cunts!”

Hughie glares at him from across the room and glares harder when he realizes Ryan looks _scared_. The kid clearly isn’t used to yelling or swearing. Hughie cuts the music and the room seems eerily quiet without it.

“Maybe we should set up a swear jar,” Hughie says, even though he knows that’d be insane. Swearing is practically Butcher’s native tongue, and Hughie isn’t always much better. Butcher doesn’t deign to answer him, just storms out of the house presumably to grab the rest of the groceries.

Hughie takes advantage of their moment alone to lean down closer to Ryan. “You don’t have to be scared of Butcher, okay?” Hughie searches the kid’s eyes for understanding but isn’t surprised to find it absent. “He’s not going to hurt you, I promise. He’s just in pain, too. He’s hurting.”

Ryan nods slowly.

“We’ll keep you safe, Ryan, I promise.” Hughie reaches out and claps a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, feeling for all the world just like his father. His words don’t feel empty, though. He means them, will say them every day if it makes the kid feel better.

“Thanks, Hughie,” Ryan says. “Should we help him with groceries?”

Hughie glances back at the front door. Butcher still hasn’t returned. “You go upstairs and hang out for a bit, okay? You’ve got, uh, some toys or something?”

“Legos, yeah.”

“Sick, I loved Legos when I was your age. You go play, I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.”

Ryan nods. He stares at Hughie for a second, like he’s considering something. He makes up his mind on whatever he was thinking about, and hurries past Hughie. He starts up the stairs just as Butcher comes up the porch steps.

“Here,” Hughie calls as he walks over to the door. “Let me help.”

Butcher doesn’t answer. He passes a few bags into Hughie’s waiting arms before turning sharply around and going to get more. Hughie brings the bags to the kitchen but rather than wait back by the front door to keep helping, he starts unloading the bags he already has. As he does, he marvels at the granite countertop and the stainless-steel appliances. Everything is pristine and new, and he can’t help running his hand over the countertops in admiration.

He’s far from a culinary master, never had much of a chance or the desire to learn, but he thinks he might start if this is the kitchen he has to work with. He loads things into the fridge and freezer accordingly, humming whatever Billy Joel song pops into his head under his breath. Butcher doesn’t speak to him as he keeps bringing in bags. Hughie almost makes a comment about having enough groceries to feed a small army, but he knows he’d rather have too much food than not enough.

Butcher doesn’t leave even after all the bags are brought in, and he doesn’t bother helping Hughie put stuff away. Which is fine, it’s not really a two-person job. Eventually, everything is stored in either the fridge, freezer, or the cupboards. They’re all stuffed to the brim, and a sense of satisfaction washes over Hughie.

“What are we doing for dinner?” He asks as he leans against the counter, admiring the space around him.

Butcher hums noncommittally.

Hughie shares the sentiment. He’s no chef, and he knows Butcher isn’t either. Frenchie was always the one to cook, sometimes MM. Despite the fact he hasn’t done much today—it’s barely five in the evening—Hughie feels a bone deep exhaustion settling in. He felt it earlier, when he was trying to fix up his room. The last few months are starting to catch up with him and his body is finally succumbing to the stress he’s been under. The last thing he wants to do is try to throw together an edible meal for himself, Butcher, and Ryan.

On a whim, Hughie looks down and pulls open the drawer that’s beside him. There, sitting on top of things like scissors and measuring tapes, is a handful of takeout menus. Hughie grins. He picks up the stack and rifles through them before settling on one for a Chinese place nearby.

“Chinese?” He asks as he holds up the menu to Butcher. “I’m not very liquid right now, but—?”

“Mallory’s got us some funds,” Butcher says gruffly. “S’fine. Money’ll cover any bills or food.”

Hughie nods slowly. “Okay.” He trails off. “Do you want to look at the menu?”

Butcher shrugs. “Order whatever, I’ll eat it.” With that, he turns and crosses the room toward the foyer. He gets one boot on the stairs, a quiet thud, before Hughie calls after him.

“C’mon, no boots upstairs.” The words come out of him unbidden, as though he’s possessed by the ghost of Lucy Ricardo, or something. Butcher’s around a corner now, so Hughie can’t quite see him, but he knows Butcher hasn’t gone upstairs yet. There’s a beat of silence before the soft rustling of laces being untied and shoes being dropped onto linoleum. “Thank you,” Hughie calls out quickly, before Butcher can disappear upstairs. “Can you send Ryan down, too?”

Butcher gives a grunt as an answer that Hughie takes to mean _yes of course_. Hughie doesn’t let it annoy him, though. He browses the takeout menu in his hand until he hears Ryan rushing downstairs, skidding into the kitchen with grace.

“Do you like Chinese food?” Hughie asks, holding out the menu for Ryan to look.

Ryan scans over it with a shrug. “I’ve never had it. Mom usually cooked all our meals. There weren’t any restaurants where we lived.”

Hughie bites his bottom lip. He knew Ryan had to have been sheltered to be kept safe from Homelander for so long, but it’s even worse than he thought. No wonder the kid had so much fun bouncing around to Billy Joel. “Okay, did Becca ever, uh, make rice? Or like, teriyaki chicken?”

Ryan shrugs. His gaze has gone a little dark and stormy, and Hughie could kick himself. Asking about Becca is probably the worst thing he could do.

“Do you like spicy food?”

At that, at least, Ryan shakes his head emphatically. “I tried jalapeños one time, they sucked.”

Hughie laughs. “Okay, I think we can figure this out, then. He steps closer to Ryan and looks over his shoulder at the menu. “We can just try a bunch of different things, that way you’ll have a better chance of figuring out what you like.”

Ryan looks up at Hughie then, having to bend his head almost all the way back to do so. “Okay, Hughie.”

Hughie can’t help but ruffle the kid’s hair again. “C’mon, let’s see…”

* * *

Ryan ends up liking teriyaki chicken, orange chicken, fried rice, and potstickers. He doesn’t care for the almond chicken—something that makes Hughie think about Black Noir’s allergy, and how they should probably see about getting Ryan’s medical records if they can—or chow mein. Butcher, just as he said, eats anything. He’s entirely silent during dinner, which gets on Hughie’s nerves but he’s determined not to fight with Butcher in front of Ryan.

Dinner is good regardless, because Ryan’s excited about trying new food and his excitement is infectious for Hughie. All the excitement catches up with them, though, especially when the food is settling in their stomachs. Ryan looks ready to pass out at the table and Hughie’s eyes are drooping, even though it’s barely seven.

“I’ll clean up,” Butcher says, the first words he’s spoken since Hughie asked him for the credit card info for the food. “Get the lad upstairs.”

Hughie blinks at Butcher. The man’s tone is level, not kind but not rude either. Hughie nods slowly. He nudges at Ryan gently until the kid lolls his head to look at him. “Let’s get you upstairs, you’ll get a crick in your neck if you fall asleep here.”

“It’s so early,” Ryan whines. It’s the most normal thing he’s said so far, and Hughie ducks his head to hide a grin.

“Call it a nap then. You don’t start school for a few weeks so if you stay up all night after this it’s fine, as long as you don’t make too much noise.”

Ryan nods even though his eyes are already fluttering shut. Hughie manages to prod him out of the chair and then follows closely behind him up the stairs. Ryan meanders to his room and Hughie slows down as they reach the door. “You can come in,” Ryan says.

Hughie follows him into the room. It’s a pretty standard kids’ room, no personal touches just like the rest of the house. The Lego kit is tucked into one corner of the room, and there’s already some clothes strewn about. Hughie makes a mental note to ask Ryan to tidy the room tomorrow, because it feels like the right thing to do. He watches as Ryan crawls into bed on top of the covers. He’s not drifting off quite as fast as he was downstairs, so Hughie wanders closer.

Ryan looks up at him. “I’m scared of school.”

Hughie nods. Slowly, he sits beside Ryan on the bed. It’s a low drop, given that it’s a kid’s bed and all, but he makes it work even if he feels like his knees come up to his ears. “School can be scary, but it’s good too. It can be fun, and you’ll learn a lot.”

“Mom used to teach me most stuff. I had a piano teacher, though.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. Maybe after you get settled, we can see if we can get you another piano teacher. If you want.”

Ryan shrugs. “Maybe.” He looks at the ceiling instead. “Did you mean it?”

Hughie doesn’t have to ask Ryan to clarify. “Of course I meant it. Butcher and I are gonna keep you safe, no matter what. Safe from Vought, safe from Homelander, safe from whatever.”

Ryan turns, hands tucked under his head as he rests on his side. “And I can really stay up all night, if I want?”

Hughie can’t help but laugh. “Sure, but don’t make it a habit, okay? Bedtimes are a good thing, too. Just like school.”

Ryan nods. “Okay.”

Hughie rises. “Come get us if you need anything, okay?” He stops by the door with a hand poised over the light switch. “On or off?”

“On please. And can you shut the door?”

Hughie does as told and comes to a stop outside Ryan’s bedroom. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out in a drawn-out exhale. He wouldn’t say he’s panicking—if anything, he feels weirdly calm. He feels like he _fits_ here. It feels right. It feels scary easy to deal with Ryan, although something tells Hughie that can’t possibly last. If nothing else, puberty will be a nightmare.

The thought is more soothing than worrisome, and Hughie wonders what sort of alternate reality he’s clearly living in.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by Butcher reaching the top of the stairs and walking down the hall. He reaches out and catches the other man by the arm just as he passes. “Hey,” he says quietly.

Butcher stops. After a beat, he looks at Hughie. “What?”

“Can Mallory get Ryan’s medical records? I was thinking about Black Noir, with that almond chicken, and I…I just wanna be prepared, in case there’s anything we need to watch out for.”

“His dad was Homelander, perfect specimen. Doubt they’d let their prized possession have an allergy, so the kid’s probably fine.”

Hughie rolls his eyes. “That’s not how allergies work, one. Two, I’d still like to be safe rather than sorry. Isn’t that the whole point of all this?” Hughie gestures to the house around them. “I’ve uprooted my life for this kid, I might as well do this whole parenting thing right.”

Butcher doesn’t answer immediately, but nods after a moment. “Alright, I’ll ask Mallory what she can do.”

Hughie lets go of Butcher’s arm and waits until he’s at the door at the end of the hallway. “Butcher,” he says, not quite loud enough to disturb Ryan. Butcher doesn’t turn to him but does wait. “Homelander isn’t Ryan’s dad. At best, he’s a sperm donor.”

It’s cliched, and maybe a little naïve. But it’s not as though Ryan loves Homelander, and despite what he thinks Homelander doesn’t love Ryan either. He’s too narcissistic for that, even if he doesn’t realize it.

Butcher doesn’t answer, just lets himself into his office and shuts the door with a sharp snap behind him.

Hughie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. With a last glance at Butcher’s office door, Hughie turns to his own room.

 _Might as well start unpacking. Again_. With a groan, Hughie trudges to his own room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie tentatively tucks the blanket tighter around Ryan’s sides, and then tighter still when Ryan gives him an unimpressed look. “Thank you, Hughie.”
> 
> “Of course, dude. It’s what I’m here for, I guess.” He shrugs and gives Ryan a laugh. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
> 
> Ryan smiles at him. “You’re doing pretty good so far.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is very soft, because i am very soft for hughie being a dad.
> 
> also since today is my birthday i've decided to give the gift of two chapters! i'm just really eager to share this story with y'all haha.
> 
> thanks to everyone who's commented so far <3

Hughie nearly brains himself on his bedroom door the next morning, when he slips on something on his floor. After he catches himself with a hasty hand on the doorknob, he realizes it’s a manilla folder. Brows furrowed, he reaches down to grab it from under his foot and flips it open.

“Oh,” he says softly as he takes in Ryan’s medical records. Some of it is heavily redacted, and even more of it is gibberish to a layman like Hughie. But he can figure out the important things: Ryan is a bit short for his age, but a good weight; no allergies, diseases, or disabilities to speak of, with perfect teeth and perfect eyesight. It settles something in Hughie’s chest to have this information. He flips through it a little longer but the deeper into the file he goes, the less he understands, so he turns and sets it on top of his dresser.

He’s still in his pajamas as he makes his way downstairs; he figures hey, it’s his house, so if he wants to wander around in pajamas, he’s going to. Ryan is already downstairs, seated at the small dining room table with a poptart in hand.

“Morning,” Hughie says as he beelines for the coffee machine.

Ryan gives him a greeting that might be “hello” or “good morning,” but it’s hard to tell around his mouthful of poptart. Hughie shakes his head with a laugh.

“Chew, then speak,” he says, just like his dad used to when Hughie was a kid.

Ryan hurriedly grabs for his milk, downing a couple sips before wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Sorry.”

“All good. You sleep okay?”

Ryan nods. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah it is. Way nicer than my place.” Hughie laughs again. Living in an actual house had always seemed beyond him, between the economy being in shambles and his general shit luck in life. It’s not really an accomplishment, since this house is gifted to them by way of the government in exchange for keeping the only natural born Supe safe, but Hughie decides to enjoy the feeling anyway.

Their coffee machine turns out to be a Keurig, which is fine by Hughie because he’s no snob. He searches through the cupboards until he finds a box of K-cups that he’s not sure if Butcher grabbed or were here when they moved in. He pops one into the machine, then hunts down the poptarts so he can throw some in the toaster for himself.

“Have you seen Butcher?” Hughie asks as he surveys the kitchen. It’s clean, no hint of their Chinese food extravaganza the night before. Not even a dirty dish in the sink. The only evidence is the containers of leftovers in the fridge.

“He was leaving when I woke up.” Ryan polishes off his second poptart. “I didn’t ask where he was going, sorry.”

Hughie waves off the apology. “No big deal.” He doesn’t know what Butcher’s doing or why he’s got a secret little office, but it doesn’t matter. For all Hughie knows, Butcher just really can’t stand to be in the same house as a Supe. Hughie’s heart aches briefly, because he could almost understand it. Supes haven’t exactly made Butcher’s life _better_ in any respect. He can’t imagine the pain Butcher feels when he looks at Ryan—the resemblance to Homelander, the fact he killed Becca, however unintentional it was.

Hughie’s grateful he doesn’t have that same pain, that he can look at Ryan and see him for what he is: a kid that needs a family.

“Wanna listen to more Billy Joel?”

Ryan looks up so fast Hughie would worry about whiplash were it any other kid. “Can we?”

“Heck yeah we can. It’s our house, we do whatever we want.” He gestures to the living room and the television. “You can get it all queued up, right?”

Ryan’s off like a shot. Hughie relaxes against the counter as he watches Ryan get Voughtify pulled up. He grabs his coffee and his poptarts and comes around to sit on the couch as Ryan pulls up Billy Joel’s page. Music fills the living room—“Uptown Girl,” perfect for the late morning in Hughie’s opinion—and Ryan’s already bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Can you show me some other music, too?” Ryan asks as he looks back at Hughie.

Hughie’s heart thuds and he wills the emotion rising in his throat to recede. “Of course, dude. Gotta make sure you’re hip before school starts, after all.”

Ryan rolls his eyes at him, but he’s grinning, so Hughie takes it as a win.

* * *

They take a break from the music education—they work through some Bruce Springsteen and John Mellencamp after going through Billy Joel pretty extensively—so that Ryan can shower. While the water runs, Hughie grabs his phone from his room and texts Butcher. He’s not even sure if it’s the right number anymore; if it isn’t, Butcher never bothered to give him a new one which seems like a huge oversight. He spends all of five minutes panicking and waiting for a response before he realizes his phone is on silent, and Butcher had texted him back almost immediately after he sent the first text.

**From: Butcher**   
_Working something for Mal. Should be back by dinner._

Hughie lets out a sigh of relief.

**To: Butcher**   
_Do you know if Ryan’s got a backpack or anything, for school? If not, could you pick him up some stuff?_

Butcher only sends a thumbs-up emoji in response, which feels like a dismissal. Hughie chews his bottom lip and tries to think of something else to say but comes up blank. He made it plenty clear yesterday that he was still mad at Butcher, and he _is_. But now that he’s here, settling into this strange situation, he doesn’t actually want to be at odds with the other man the entire time. That’s no way to live.

He stares at the thumbs-up emoji until his screen goes black. He doesn’t text anything else, and instead resolves to just talk to Butcher tonight.

* * *

Except Butcher does _not_ end up back by dinner. Hughie doesn’t have the card info memorized yet, so he can’t order takeout again, and he and Ryan ate the Chinese leftovers for lunch. Hughie finds some frozen nuggets and curly fries and throws them both on a pan and sticks it in the oven. While they bake, he can’t keep his eyes off the clock or his text thread with Butcher. He doesn’t text the man again, not wanting to come off as needy but feeling anxious all the same. Ryan doesn’t seem too concerned, but it’s not like he has reason to be. He’s never had to deal with Butcher going missing for days at a time, either off on a mission or getting his ass kidnapped.

He and Ryan end up watching a movie on Netflix after their simple dinner—Ryan seems content with nuggets and fries, at least—and it’s nice, but Hughie still can’t relax. It’s still fun, and Ryan’s movie knowledge surpasses his music knowledge; it makes Hughie wonder if Becca was more of a movie buff, or if she just didn’t care for rock, or what. He can’t ask Ryan, and he definitely can’t ask Butcher.

They get halfway through a second movie before Ryan starts dozing on the couch. Like the night before, Hughie nudges at Ryan until he wakes up a bit more. “Time for bed.”

Ryan yawns and rubs at his eyes. “Is Butcher home yet?”

Hughie shakes his head. “No, but he’s probably just working late.”

Ryan nods, accepting the answer easily. Hughie helps him off the couch but isn’t planning on following him upstairs, except Ryan stops at the foot of the stairs. He looks nervous, unsure.

“What’s up?” Hughie asks, pausing in reaching for his phone.

“Will you tuck me in?”

Hughie blinks. “Oh.” The question is simple, has a simple answer, but it still makes Hughie feel out of depth.

“You don’t have to,” Ryan says. He looks away, his cheeks bright even in the low light of the foyer. “It’s dumb, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not dumb.” Hughie practically trips over himself to rush over to Ryan. “It’s not dumb at all. I was just surprised, is all. That you want me to do that.”

Ryan still isn’t looking at him. “You’re nice,” he says eventually. “And I don’t really have anyone else.”

It doesn’t sting, because Hughie knows Ryan doesn’t mean it in an unkind way. It’s true, plain and simple. Ryan doesn’t have anyone else, and even if Butcher was home, he wouldn’t dare ask him.

“I’d be happy to tuck you in. You go brush your teeth, I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

Ryan grins up at him. “Yeah, okay.”

Hughie watches the kid run up the stairs and once he disappears around the corner, he pulls out his phone. He finally gives in to the urge to text Butcher.

**To: Butcher**   
_where the fuck are you?_

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just makes sure his volume is cranked and pockets his phone again. He takes the stairs two at a time; the guest bathroom door is slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hallway. He knocks gently on the door and it opens a little more, Ryan looking at him with a toothbrush in his mouth and toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. On the bathroom counter is a little hourglass.

“Don’t mind me,” Hughie says, “just checking on you.”

Ryan gives him a thumbs up, unbothered. Hughie busies himself with looking at the guest bathroom, a space he hasn’t gotten much of a look at yet; his bedroom has a small, attached suite, and judging from the array of kid’s stuff in the bathroom, Butcher’s bedroom must also have a suite. There are frogs and ducks on the walls, the trim painted a serene soft blue coupled with the same beige that covers the rest of the house.

“All done!” Ryan says after he’s spit and rinsed. Hughie steps back and lets him lead the way to his bedroom, hangs back as Ryan gets settled under the blankets on his bed. Hughie’s never tucked anyone in before, and he’s suddenly nervous about it as though it’s something he could do wrong.

Ryan’s eyes are already starting to droop as Hughie gets closer. Hughie tentatively tucks the blanket tighter around Ryan’s sides, and then tighter still when Ryan gives him an unimpressed look. “Thank you, Hughie.”

“Of course, dude. It’s what I’m here for, I guess.” He shrugs and gives Ryan a laugh. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Ryan smiles at him. “You’re doing pretty good so far.”

“Yeah?”

Ryan nods, but Hughie can tell he’s drifting off. In the time it takes for Hughie to rise from the bed and comb a hand through Ryan’s hair, the kid is asleep. Hughie lingers for a second, heart full, before pulling away from Ryan.

He nearly screams when he sees the shadow in the doorway, and only stops himself because he realizes quickly that it’s just Butcher. Hughie clutches a hand at his chest and wills his heart rate to slow. Once he’s got his heartbeat under control as best he can, he storms toward the door and, in a moment of fury and weakness, shoves Butcher into the hallway. It’s a contrast to the gentle way he shuts Ryan’s door behind them.

Butcher’s barely stumbled, but he’s glaring at Hughie.

Hughie can feel his nostrils flaring. “Downstairs, now,” he says before striding toward the stairs. He refuses to stomp, especially because it could wake Ryan. He doesn’t bother checking to see if Butcher is following, because if the man knows what’s good for him, he will.

Hughie ends up waiting in the living room for all of thirty seconds before Butcher joins him. In the light of the living room, Hughie can tell that Butcher is unscathed, at least as far as his face goes. Hughie doesn’t know about the rest of him, but he doesn’t appear to be limping or favoring one side, so.

“Well?” Butcher asks with a sneer. “Something you want to say?”

“There are so many things I want to say,” Hughie grinds out. “I want to say that you’re a selfish asshole who doesn’t care about anyone else, and I wanna say that you’re an idiot for thinking no one gives a shit about you, since that’s the only reason I can figure that you’d fucking leave me in the dark for twelve god damn hours with a kid who is, for all intents and purposes, _your_ son.”

“He ain’t my nothing,” Butcher snarls.

“He is, though!” Hughie throws his hands in the hair in frustration. “Whether you like it or not, he’s _your_ responsibility! You can’t just dump him in my lap like you were going to do with Mallory. You’re in this too. You _chose_ this, so fucking stick with it.” Butcher opens his mouth to reply, but Hughie isn’t done. “You can’t just disappear like that. I don’t care if you’re on a mission for Mallory, I don’t give a fuck what you’re actually doing. You don’t get to go off the grid without telling us. Either you leave a note, or you text me, or at least leave me a fucking voicemail or _something_. I would take smoke signals over radio silence.”

Hughie’s panting by the time he’s done, so much so he almost misses the look of surprise on Butcher’s face. The other man looks like he doesn’t know what to say, and it feels kind of nice to have rendered him speechless.

“That’s all I ask,” Hughie says. “Let us know if you’re going to be gone all day, or overnight, or whatever. And just _try_ to be involved. You don’t have to be dad of the year or anything, but you could at least talk to Ryan. Take an interest. Did you get the backpack and stuff?”

“I did,” Butcher answers quietly. “S’in the car, I’ll grab it in a bit.”

Hughie nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

Then they both stand there in awkward silence. Hughie doesn’t know what else to say, because he’s still mad and he still can’t believe this is his life now and he especially can’t believe that Butcher seemed ready to just leave this all in Hughie’s hands. Hughie fidgets where he stands, turning toward the kitchen where the remnants of their dinner are still out. He needs to clean up, but there’s still some nuggets and fries left.

“Have you eaten?” Hughie asks.

Butcher shakes his head.

“C’mon, then. And what did I say? Boots by the door, come on.” Hughie walks into the kitchen while Butcher gets out of his boots and leaves them by the rack in the foyer. Hughie puts the leftover food on a plate and sticks it in the microwave before starting to clean up the pan he used and the parchment paper. It’s easy cleanup and he’s done sooner than it takes to heat up the food. It means he stands there in the kitchen, while Butcher slides into one of the chairs at the counter, arms braces against the raised countertop.

“Mallory’s got me running a team that keeps tabs on Supes, it’s on the downlow but it’s under Neuman’s command. We’re tracking down dangerous ones across the states, dispatching people out to either kill ‘em or take ‘em in.” Butcher offers the information plainly, like he read it in the morning paper.

Hughie appreciates it anyway. “What do _you_ do, exactly?”

“Track down leads, rough up people to get the information we need, try and find recruits who can handle the business.”

Hughie nods. “So, pretty much what you did before.”

“Suppose so.”

“Where were you today, then?”

“Had to make a drive out to Jersey to chase down a lead.”

Hughie waits for more but Butcher doesn’t say anything. “And?”

“And nothing, Hughie. S’not your job anymore.” Butcher’s eyes, when he looks at Hughie, are full of apology. It’s too much, deep and genuine and terrifying. “Not gonna drag you back into that.”

Despite the way his heart skips a beat, Hughie scoffs. “You won’t drag me back into the exciting part, but you’re fine with dragging me in to be a nanny?”

Butcher shakes his head, though. “Not a nanny. A good influence.” Butcher drops his gaze again and it’s both a relief and a disappointment. “I can’t be the only cunt in the kid’s life, he’ll end up fucking crazier than Homelander. He needs some good in his life.”

Hughie’s saved from replying by the microwave beeping. He nearly drops the plate when he pulls it out, not because it’s hot but because his hands won’t stop shaking. He manages to get the plate out eventually though and pushes it across the counter to Butcher. Butcher stares at the dinosaur shaped nuggets as though he isn’t the one who bought them. It’s a sight to behold, a gruff and grizzly man like Butcher munching on dino-nuggets and soggy curly fries.

“I’ll text you, next time m’coming back late.” Butcher says it around a mouthful of nuggets. There are crumbs in his beard.

Not for the first time, Hughie thinks, _god, I love him_.

He freezes, as though Butcher might be able to hear his thoughts. He knows that’s ridiculous, though, especially since Butcher keeps talking. He’s entirely unaware of Hughie’s internal crisis.

“And I’ll make it a point to talk to the kid, sometimes. Don’t know what you expect me to say, but…”

“Just ask him how he slept, how his day was, if he wants orange juice with his poptarts, I don’t fucking know.” Hughie smiles, though. It feels shaky on his own face, as though Butcher might be able to tell the depth of his feelings from the grin alone. “I’m not any more equipped to handle this than you are. You’re the one who had a little brother, I’ve never had anything like that.”

Butcher tenses slightly at the mention of Lenny, but it passes quickly. He nods. “Suppose you’re right about that.”

Hughie hesitates before speaking again. “Ryan’s a good kid. He’s not Homelander. He’s not some Supe terrorist in disguise. He’s a kid who needs a family, and we’re all he’s got right now.”

Butcher nods again. “You’re right.”

Hughie tamps down the urge to preen—Butcher’s praise is seldom-given and even more seldom genuine. “You going back to Jersey tomorrow?”

“Nah, tracking down someone in Harlem, most likely. Shouldn’t be home too late.”

“Okay.” Hughie’s heart settles in his chest again, like it had that morning when he first texted Butcher. “Maybe let Mallory know to keep us in the loop if you end up kidnapped or otherwise indisposed, too.”

Butcher snorts. “She’ll love that, being our personal middleman.”

“I broke enough phones during our missions, I know how it goes.”

Butcher looks at him now. His eyes are full of emotion again—not apology, but something else just as deep and paralyzing. “Yeah, you do.”

Hughie’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t know what to say to that, the look or the earnest words. So he just sits up, cracking his back as he goes, and taps his fingertips on the granite countertop. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Go on,” Butcher waves him toward the stairs. “I’ll take care of me plate after.”

“Okay.” Hughie stops at the edge of the kitchen, but he doesn’t know what else there is to say. Just like he didn’t know what else to text Butcher this morning.

“G’night, Hughie.”

“Night.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s explaining Ryan’s fascination with Legos—something his dad loves, since Hughie was the same when he was a kid—when the home phone rings. His dad looks confused, but rises from the couch and crosses the room anyway. He picks the phone up off the cradle and answers it with a stilted, “Hello?”
> 
> Hughie watches as his dad’s eyes widen before his whole expression softens into something like a smile.
> 
> “Yes, Mr. Butcher, my son is right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still domestic but we're ramping things up a bit! also played a bit fast and loose with the extent of victoria's and hughie's prior interactions in this, as well as that last scene of theirs in canon. this is where some of that 'semi canon compliant' tag coems in lol. 
> 
> next update will be this wednesday!!

They fall into a routine after that. Butcher wakes up first most mornings, and Ryan’s an early riser too. Even though Butcher is usually gone by the time Hughie rolls out of bed, Ryan always looks a little happier than that first morning Hughie had found him eating poptarts. Hughie doesn’t know exactly what Ryan and Butcher’s mornings look like together, but Ryan being happy is good enough for him.

Hughie and Ryan spend the days together, usually listening to music or watching movies; sometimes they’ll do their own respective things, like Ryan playing with his Legos and Hughie going over his resume for the umpteenth time. But Ryan seems to prefer it when they’re in the same room together, and Hughie is all too happy to oblige. It’s not like he worries about the kid when they’re in separate rooms, but it soothes him to have Ryan in his line of sight.

Most nights, Butcher’s home by six. Some days he looks worse for wear than others. One night he comes home with a vibrant purple shiner and Ryan’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. Hughie and Butcher spend that night explaining Butcher’s job without giving too much away or scaring the kid further. Most nights are normal—they have dinner, Ryan and Hughie watch TV while Butcher goes up to his office, Hughie tucks Ryan in and says goodnight to Butcher even though the other man never says it back. He doesn’t know if Butcher just doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t care.

It’s confusing, and sometimes their little life feels overwhelmingly fragile, but it’s good.

* * *

“I have my interview tomorrow,” Hughie says as he washes the dishes. Butcher’s beside him, drying them even though they have a dish rack for that very purpose. It’s probably the closest Hughie has stood to Butcher since before they set out to rescue Ryan. “I’ll need the car, and someone will need to stay here with Ryan.”

Butcher pauses, a dish in one hand and a rag in the other. “Interview?”

Hughie rolls his eyes. “With Neuman’s office? I applied to work with her campaign. I mentioned it last week.” He can tell Butcher is searching his memory for the mention of it, but Hughie doesn’t really mind. “Is that going to be a problem? Can Mallory get us another car? We could call MM, see if he can babysit.”

Butcher shakes his head. “No, s’alright. I’ll watch the kid, you take the car. Shouldn’t take too long, right?”

“I really have no idea. I haven’t applied for a new job in like, three years.” Hughie gives a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m pretty sure I won’t get it, but I figured it’s worth a shot. She really seems like she’s doing good work, and I want to help.”

“Weird to think about, in’it?” Butcher says after a moment. “That we would’ve been workin’ for the same place, but wouldn’t have crossed paths?”

Hughie hadn’t really considered that. “We would’ve run into each other, eventually. Inevitably.”

That makes Butcher smile, and Hughie grins in response.

* * *

It’s weird leaving Ryan behind, even though Hughie knows he’s safe with Butcher. If anything, it’s a wakeup call that Hughie needs to get out of the house more often. As much as he enjoys his time with Ryan, it’d be too easy to lapse into the sort of life his dad lived. Always at home, always in front of the television, letting life pass him by. Hughie lets the thought propel him as he drives back into the city, that even if he doesn’t get this job with Neuman’s office, he’ll go for something else. Anything else, as long as it’s not illegal or otherwise shady.

He arrives a little early so he grabs his phone. Even though Butcher didn’t ask, Hughie shoots him a text letting him know he made it safe. Then he pulls up his thread with his dad. He hasn’t had a chance to visit him yet, but since he’s in the city today he might as well.

**To: Dad**   
_Still alright for me to come by today?_

**From: Dad  
** _Course! Let me know when you’re on your way -Hugh_

Hughie rolls his eyes with a fond smile. Before he can answer his dad, a text from Butcher comes in.

**From: Butcher**   
_Good. Let me know when you’re done._

Hughie replies in the affirmative, then glances at the clock. He still has five minutes before his interview is scheduled to start, but he figures it’s better to be early than late. He tugs anxiously at the collar of his shirt, stashes his phone in his pocket, and clambers out of the car. Once inside, an assistant guides him to an office at the back of the room and lets him in even though it’s empty.

“Ms. Neuman should be here shortly. Can I get you anything while you wait?”

“Oh, uh, no thanks. Thank you though.” Hughie winces at his own awkwardness, but the assistant just smiles at him before backing out of the room.

The next four minutes are easily the longest of Hughie’s life. Well, that’s not true. The weeks it took for Butcher to come back felt longer; the hours he spent thinking Starlight might be dead after Vought kidnapped her and her mom, those were long. These four minutes still rank up there, though.

When Victoria Neuman finally opens the door, Hughie’s wound so tight he jumps. Despite that, he manages to get out his request: a job offer, as thanks for what he did to help Neuman. It feels odd to take the credit for leaking the news about Stormfront, something he was only able to do because of A-Train, but it works. 

When he mentions never fitting in with the Boys, Neuman’s eyes narrow slightly. “Are you still in contact with them?” She asks. Hughie answers ‘no’ on autopilot and Neuman seems satisfied. His nerves return with a vengeance as she turns around, shuts her office door, and asks, “So, when can you start?”

Despite his nerves, Hughie manages to play it cool. “Uh, what are the hours like? I’ve got, uh.” _Fuck it_ , he thinks. “I have a kid at home, and I can’t always get a babysitter. He starts school soon, but—?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You have a kid?”

Hughie remembers, almost a moment too late, that as far as he knows, Victoria doesn’t know about Ryan. No one is supposed to. So he says, “Yeah, I’m taking care of a cousin, right now. I don’t know how long it’ll be for, his parents are…going through some shit.” He glances down at his hands, because if he doesn’t he’ll stare at her wide-eyed, shocked at himself for the lie tumbling easily from his lips.

After a beat, Neuman waves off his concerns. “I completely understand. You let us know what will work best for you, and we’ll figure something out. There’s plenty to do with the campaign, be it getting out in the streets, working here in our HQ, or even working from home. I think you’ll be a valuable asset to the team, Hughie, so whatever we can do to bring you on board is fine by me.”

Hughie splits into a grin. “Thank you, that…that means a lot.”

Neuman sits back, smiling at him. “How about for now, you go home and figure out what a doable schedule looks like for you? I’d like to have you in the city at least once or twice a week, if possible, but you hammer out what hours work best and we’ll go from there.”

“Absolutely, of course, ma’am.”

She rises from her chair and extends her hand over her desk, which Hughie hurries to take and shake. “I look forward to working with you, Hughie.”

“You too.”

Hughie leaves the campaign office feeling like he’s walking on air. He barely remembers the drive to his dad’s, and he’s still floating when his dad buzzes him up into the apartment.

“Hughie,” his dad breathes as he answers the door. “You look…” His dad looks guilty then. Hughie knows why—because he looks happy, something that’s happened so rarely since Robin died. Granted, he’s been pretty happy with Ryan, but his dad doesn’t know that.

“I got the job with Neuman’s campaign,” he says by way of explanation.

His dad’s face lights up. “Hughie, that’s great!” His dad drags him into a hug and they go stumbling back into the apartment. “How have you been? How are things with Ryan and, er.”

“Butcher,” Hughie supplies. “Things are good.”

* * *

He’s explaining Ryan’s fascination with Legos—something his dad loves, since Hughie was the same when he was a kid—when the home phone rings. His dad looks confused, but rises from the couch and crosses the room anyway. He picks the phone up off the cradle and answers it with a stilted, “Hello?”

Hughie watches as his dad’s eyes widen before his whole expression softens into something like a smile.

“Yes, Mr. Butcher, my son is right here.”

Hughie blanches. He scrambles for his phone in his pocket. He’d put it on silent for the interview and never took it off; on top of that, he forgot to tell Butcher he’d be stopping by his dad’s. The interview ended over an hour ago, and his phone has six texts from Butcher.

**From: Butcher**   
_you done yet?_

**From: Butcher**   
_must be going well, then_

**From: Butcher**   
_or it’s gone terribly, and you’ve gotten yourself murdered_

**From: Butcher**   
_swear to fuck Hughie if you’re out getting pissed I’m going to kill you myself_

**From: Butcher**   
_this is rich after that ass-chewing you gave me last week_

**From: Butcher**   
_the kid says you mentioned your dads_

The last text is timestamped from just ten minutes ago. Hughie staggers to his feet and takes the phone from his dad. “Butcher, I’m sorry.”

The other end of the line is quiet.

_“The kid was getting worried.”_

Hughie doesn’t call out the fact that it’s Butcher who texted him six times, not Ryan. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’ll bring home something fun for dinner, to make it up to him.”

There’s some muffled talking on the other end of the line. Distantly he hears Butcher say _“really?_ That’s _what you fucking want for dinner? Alright, alright, fine.”_ Hughie’s stifling his laughter against his fist when Butcher finally speaks into the phone again. _“Kid wants McDonalds of all the bloody things.”_

“Sounds good to me. What do you want?”

_“I’ll text you the orders. Honestly, kid, someone offers to bring you food, you pick something_ expensive _and_ interesting _.”_ The line disconnects after that and Hughie rolls his eyes.

He sets the phone back in its cradle and when he looks up, he realizes his dad is staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” his dad says. “Glad things are going well.”

Hughie can feel a blush warming his cheeks and does his best to ignore it. “Yeah. It’s weird, but…I dunno, I guess I like weird.”

“It suits you.” His dad turns and walks into the kitchen.

Hughie calls after him, “What, weirdness?”

Simply, easily, his dad answers. “No, fatherhood.”

* * *

Hughie’s still shaken up by his father’s words when he pulls into the driveway. He’s got three bags of McDonalds in the passenger seat but he takes a second to gather his thoughts. He’d thought about it the whole drive home— _fatherhood_ suiting him. It sounds ridiculous in his head, but sounded less ridiculous when his father said it. Sure, his dad isn’t a paradigm of great choices. He’s always been a bit feeble and softer than Hughie himself, but he’s still a good dad.

Hughie shakes his head as if he can get the thoughts out that way, like an Etch-a-Sketch being erased. He climbs out of the car and gathers the back of McDonalds into his arms. He doesn’t even get a chance to knock or try to fumble for the keys before the door is swinging open and Ryan is suddenly attached around his waist.

Hughie stumbles a bit, but not far. Butcher appears in the doorway a few moments later, and wordlessly takes the bags of food from him. Hughie drops one hand to Ryan’s head and looks down at the kid. He realizes then that maybe Butcher wasn’t really joking when he said Ryan was the one who was worried.

“Hey, I’m here,” he murmurs.

Ryan presses his face against Hughie’s stomach before looking up. “Butcher missed you too.”

The blush is returning and Hughie scowls. Ryan grins up at him. “Just for that,” Hughie says, “you don’t get any of the extra nuggets I bought.”

Ryan’s grin twists into a pout immediately. Hughie cracks up and shoves the kid away playfully.

“C’mon, I’m starving.”

Ryan takes off into the house and Hughie follows behind him. He pauses long enough to shut and lock the door behind him, kicks off his shoes by the rack, then wanders into the kitchen. Butcher’s already got all the food unpacked and sorted into who ordered what.

“Well?” Butcher says as he reaches for his big mac and fries.

Hughie blinks at him in confusion. “I already said I was sorry…?”

Butcher rolls his eyes. “No, are you daft? The fucking job interview, how was it?”

“Oh!” Hughie slaps a hand over his face in embarrassment. “Duh, obviously. Uh, it went great. I’ve got the job. She said I could take some time to figure out what schedule would work best, and get back to her.”

Ryan’s busy grabbing his ten piece of nuggets and his bag of apple slices, so he misses the look of confusion that crosses Butcher’s face. “Schedule?”

“Well, yeah.” Hughie jerks his head toward Ryan.

“You told her about Ryan?”

Hughie hurriedly shakes his head. “God, no. I’m not stupid. I told her I was looking after a cousin.”

Butcher’s still glaring but he seems to accept the answer. “So what’s this about a schedule?”

“Something to work around watching him until he starts school, and something to work for when he has to stay home, or whatever. She said I can do some partial remote work, if need be.” Hughie shrugs one shoulder. “The school year starts in a week, so I do remote stuff until then, and go from there.”

“I can stay home more, if you need it,” Butcher says. The offer is so immediate, so freely given, Hughie is a little blindsided by it.

“What? No, that’s okay. What?” Hughie feels once again like he’s slipped into some kind of alternate universe.

Butcher’s lips quirk in amusement. “S’alright. I’ve got a home office after all. Might as well put it to use.”

“You use it almost every night,” Hughie says, not quite able to keep a note of bitterness out of his voice. Butcher doesn’t comment on it, only arches an eyebrow. Hughie sighs. “If you’re sure,” he concedes. “Your work is probably more important than mine.”

Butcher groans, and he’d look a lot more intimidating if he wasn’t shoving a handful of lukewarm French fries into his mouth. “I’m fucking sure, Hughie, Christ. I’ll talk to Mallory about it tomorrow, see what she thinks.”

Hughie nods. “Thanks.”

Butcher waves a hand like it’s no big deal, but it feels like a big deal. The compromise, the kindness; it’s something small, but coming from Butcher it feels enormous. Hughie keeps his head down as he gets his food together, and only looks up when he feels eyes on him. Butcher has wandered to the living room and is in the recliner, but Ryan is staring at Hughie.

“I really am sorry if I worried you,” Hughie tells him seriously.

Ryan shrugs. “It’s okay. I figured you were safe.” His gaze darts over to Butcher and lingers before sliding back to Hughie. “I didn’t freak out or anything,” he says, and the _“like Butcher did”_ is unspoken but heavily implied.

Hughie ducks his head again to hide his grin. “You’re a good kid, Ryan.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan nods. “He sat down here for a bit while I watched the Lego Movie, and then he sat on the back porch for a couple hours smoking.”
> 
> Hughie can’t help but wrinkle his nose. “Smoking is bad, remember that.”
> 
> “That’s what mom always said, too.”
> 
> “Your mom was a smart lady,” Hughie says it without really thinking, already reaching for one of the nearest boxes of pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the birthday wishes!! It was a fun day <3 So glad people are enjoying this so far, thanks everyone for reading and commenting!
> 
> See y'all Friday!

It’s a few days later that Hughie says to Butcher, “We need a second car.”

Butcher looks up from his plate of food. “Why?”

Hughie doesn’t roll his eyes. Things have been pretty good lately—a little tense, here and there; Butcher still doesn’t spend enough time with Ryan, and Hughie feels weird being left in the dark about his job with Mallory—and he doesn’t want to disrupt that too much. “Ryan starts school soon and I’ll be going into the office. It’s stupid to make you work from home every time I’m working at the office, so just have Mallory get us another car. Preferably not an SUV.”

“The SUV is safe,” Butcher grunts.

Hughie throws his hands in the air, a weak but emphatic display of his exasperation. “I don’t care what car, if we need an SUV because it’s safest, then fine. Having _two_ SUVs seems a little suspicious to me, but what do I know?”

“You just don’t want another one because you can’t drive the bloody thing properly.”

That confirms Hughie’s fear, that Butcher saw him totally curb it when he was pulling in after another visit with his dad. “Just ask Mallory, since you refuse to give me her number.”

“S’for emergencies only,” Butcher says even as he pulls out his phone right then.

Hughie rolls his eyes and sighs. Ryan bounding down the stairs and skidding into the kitchen interrupts the tension. He clambers into the chair one away from Butcher, leaving plenty of space between them. At least Butcher acknowledges Ryan more often now; granted, it’s only a nod when he sips at his coffee, but it’s something.

Hughie passes a plate of pancakes and bacon over to Ryan. “How’d you sleep?”

Ryan shrugs as he reaches for the syrup, just out of his reach. Hughie’s about to help him when Butcher slides it over with his free hand, his other hand wrapped around his mug. Ryan murmurs a thank you before answering Hughie. “I’m nervous.”

Hughie’s been waiting for this to crop up again. “You’ll do great at school.”

“An’ if you don’t,” Butcher says, not seeming to notice how his abrupt voice makes Ryan startle, “punch any twats who give you trouble in the face.”

Hughie is torn between laughing and scolding the other man. He settles on the responsible thing, which is to address Ryan. “Don’t punch people, Ryan, unless you have a _really_ good reason to. If someone gives you trouble, you go talk to a teacher.”

Ryan nods. “What’s it like?”

It’s been a while since Hughie was last in school, let alone elementary school. Far too much of it is a dark blur, overshadowed by the angst of his mom leaving just as he entered first grade. “Uh, well, you’ll have a teacher, and you’ll sit at desks. I think they still do recess?” He looks at Butcher, who only shrugs.

“How the fuck would I know?”

Hughie shakes his head. “Don’t swear at school,” he says, although he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Ryan swear anyway. Better safe than sorry. “Try and make some friends. If you feel like you’re getting overwhelmed or if you might, er.”

“If you think you’re gonna blow up the fucking classroom, ask to see the principal. Your teacher should be aware of the predicament.”

_ Predicament _ isn’t exactly how Hughie would phrase it, but he’s not sure of a better way. He looks at Ryan, searching his face for any sign of hurt or fear. The kid still looks scared at the idea of school, but he’s nodding seriously and looks about a moment away from writing down notes so he doesn’t forget. Hughie smiles.

“You’ve got a phone now, too. If you need something and the school can’t help, you can call me or Butcher.”

Hughie half expects Butcher to protest, make some excuse about work or not having time, but he just nods and raises his coffee in agreement. When Hughie looks back at Ryan, he looks a little more relaxed and Hughie feels his own shoulders relax in tandem. Between Ryan starting school soon, the job at Neuman’s office, and Butcher being gone most days, it’s a lot of stress. It’s nothing compared to trying to break into secure facilities or steal company secrets, of course, but it’s still stressful.

Looking at Ryan and Butcher, side by side despite the distance between them, helps settle Hughie’s racing mind a bit.

* * *

Hughie has first day with Neuman’s office the following Monday. It’s scary, and exciting, and Hughie feels good about it—even if Butcher had scoffed at his freshly-ironed button down and pressed slacks. Ryan had wished him luck and told him to have a good day, and Hughie’s letting that keep him buoyant and ready as he strolls into the office. Just like when he came by for his interview, it’s a flurry of activity. Given that Neuman has her eye on being president, it’s hardly a surprise.

It’s such a different energy from the work he did with the Boys, though, it takes him a second to adjust. Sure, the basement was sometimes a hotbed of activity, whether it was patching people up on the sly or shipping cocaine to wherever it was needed. Even at its most manic, though, that has nothing on the energy here and now.

“Hughie!” Victoria herself calls out, rushing over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “So glad you could make it in today.”

“Of course.” He’d worked out a schedule for the next week before Ryan starts school—Butcher is home today and will stay home again on Thursday so that Hughie can drive into the city. Mallory agreed to get them a second car, but apparently reinforcing something other than a black SUV with bulletproof windows and doors takes _time_. “I’m happy to be here.”

Victoria gives him a blinding grin. “We want to get you started on something that’s probably way too easy, but until you’re able to be in the office more we don’t want to pile too much on.”

Hughie nods and lets himself be led over to a desk near Victoria’s office door. “Like I said, a week and I’m all yours.”

There’s a glint in her eyes at his words, something like determination and glee. “Glad to hear that, Hughie. For now, we’d like you to take a look at my campaign website and make some tweaks.” She darts into her office, leaving Hughie at the desk, and returns with a small stack of papers. “Here are some recent initiatives I’m pushing, a few reports on the polls and votership, and a few ideas about the color scheme. Think you can handle it?”

Hughie takes the stack with a nod. “Definitely.” Sure, he hasn’t stretched his web design legs in a bit, but he _did_ put it on his resume. He falls into the chair and takes a second to admire the computer in front of him. “High end,” he says with a low whistle.

Victoria looks proud. “Only the best for my team.” She pats his shoulder again before she disappears into the throng of people concentrated near the bullpen of the office.

It is small, and pretty simple even if Hughie’s a little rusty. As he pulls up the necessary web pages, flipping through the stack of paper he’s been given, he feels hopeful for the good he can do working with Victoria.

* * *

He’s given a laptop to take home with a secure connection so he can access whatever information he needs for the website while not in the office, and it feels so formal and official he freaks out about it for fifteen minutes in the car after his shift is over. He might need to ask if Butcher feels inclined to share the spare room as an office, even if he doesn’t plan to work from home all the time; the thought of leaving this laptop out where anyone could see it makes his skin crawl in that familiar, paranoid way.

He shoves the laptop under his messenger bag in the passenger seat before heading home. He texts Butcher to let him know he’s on his way, having learned his lesson last time. The drive home is long, and dull; even with his head full of thoughts on what to work on tomorrow with the website, Hughie finds the commute dragging. He understands why they have to live out of the way, but as he gets on the freeway he finds himself hoping that one day they’ll be able to get a place closer to the city.

He passes four mile markers before the thought catches up with him. Hughie doesn’t slam on the breaks or swerve, but his head does swim abruptly and briefly. His thought from last week about loving Butcher comes back to him, as does his dad’s comment about fatherhood suiting him. Both feel like too much to bear, but he’s been ignoring them for a while now. What better time to examine his complex feelings for his pseudo-spouse and the little person he’s responsible for than on the freeway headed home?

He’s known he’s loved Butcher for a long time. Too long. It’s embarrassing, really, his feelings for the other man. Hughie doesn’t know if it’s some kind of complex, born from Butcher saving him when Hughie was at his lowest. He doesn’t know, sometimes, how the feelings persist so strongly when Butcher is the person who drives him craziest in this world. Even when they fought, though, the week before Butcher showed up again—even then, Hughie loved him. It’s part of what made their fight so volatile, because that’s how Hughie felt. That’s how he still feels, a bit.

He told Butcher he agreed to this for Ryan’s sake, not because Butcher asked him to, and that’s mostly true. But Hughie can feel it deep in his chest, in the most naïve and hopeful pits of his heart, that he agreed because it was a chance to be close to Butcher again. It’s far from some kind of fantasy, what with the brooding and the silence and overall tension that looms over them like a cloud. But it’s still more than Hughie ever thought he’d get.

And Ryan…Hughie swallows. He likes the kid, feels for the kid, wants the kid to be happy and grow into a better person than Butcher _or_ Hughie. It’s what Ryan deserves, and Hughie knows it won’t be easy. But it’s been as easy to commit himself to Ryan as it was to commit himself to Butcher in the beginning. There’s something compelling about them both, like Hughie’s caught in their orbit and couldn’t escape even if he wanted to.

Hughie circles back to his initial thought about moving closer to the city someday, and he realizes Butcher’s never said how long they’re expected to do this for. And Hughie never asked, it never even crossed his mind to wonder if this was actually a long-term gig. But of course it is, because that’s what _family_ is. Hughie’s long since considered Butcher to be some kind of family, just as he considers Frenchie and MM to be his family. And Ryan fits in there too.

The thought isn’t quite as scary as Hughie expects. He’s even smiling by the time he pulls into the driveway, although that’s helped by the sight of a second car in his usual spot. He pulls into the half of the driveway that’s unoccupied and takes a moment to stare at the unassuming, dark blue Kia. It’s smaller than the SUV, obviously, and there’s nothing from the outside that screams _bulletproof_. Hughie nods approvingly to himself before clambering out of the car.

He enters the house, laptop tucked under one arm and bag thrown over his shoulder, to the scent of pizza filling the downstairs. He hangs his bag on the coat rack, toes off his shoes, and brings the laptop with him as he heads toward the kitchen.

“What’s all this?” Hughie asks as Ryan hops up from the couch and joins him in the kitchen.

“Butcher didn’t want to cook.”

“And where is Butcher?” Hughie says, but he’s already looking up at the ceiling, as though he could look through the floor and see Butcher in his office.

“He’s only been in there for a little bit,” Ryan says.

That surprises Hughie. “Oh yeah?”

Ryan nods. “He sat down here for a bit while I watched the Lego Movie, and then he sat on the back porch for a couple hours smoking.”

Hughie can’t help but wrinkle his nose. “Smoking is bad, remember that.”

“That’s what mom always said, too.”

“Your mom was a smart lady,” Hughie says it without really thinking, already reaching for one of the nearest boxes of pizza. He feels Ryan’s eyes on him before he can grab a slice, though. He looks up curiously.

“Can I have a hug?” Ryan asks, his gaze already dropping just as it did when he asked Hughie to tuck him in. He doesn’t have Hughie tuck him in every night, but he does ask occasionally. He’s never asked for a hug before, though.

“Oh, dude, of course,” Hughie says even though his throat is growing tight. He sets the laptop carefully on the counter and then opens his arms to the kid. “Hugs are great.”

Ryan wraps around his waist tight and presses his face against Hughie’s stomach. “Mom gave really good hugs.”

Hughie nods even though Ryan isn’t looking at him. “My mom did too. I think it’s just a special mom superpower, you know?”

Ryan laughs, and it sounds wet. Hughie doesn’t ask, doesn’t make Ryan look at him. He just strokes the mop of blond hair and hugs him a little tighter. After a few moments, Hughie starts to sway in place; it’s something his mom used to do, usually before breaking into an off-key rendition of a Billy Joel song. Hughie doesn’t sing, but the movement alone makes Ryan laugh.

Hughie grins down at him until Ryan’s laughter is interrupted by a throat clearing near the edge of the kitchen.

“Thought I heard you pull up,” Butcher says. He’s staring intently at Hughie and Ryan, something unreadable in his expression.

Hughie resists the urge to jump apart—he didn’t spend his drive home thinking about Ryan as family just to feel awkward for hugging the kid—and lets Ryan be the first to step away instead. “Thanks for getting pizza.”

Butcher shrugs. He strides into the kitchen and wordlessly starts grabbing plates from the cupboard. “We’ve got a meeting at his school this week,” he says, apropos of nothing. He passes a plate to Ryan, who says a quiet thanks, and then one to Hughie. “Something about meeting with his principal to make sure we’re all on the same page, or some shit.”

“Or some shit,” Hughie echoes. “Okay. I’ll email Victoria and let her know.”

There’s silence as they meander around the island in the kitchen, gathering pizza slices onto their plates. Hughie’s about to step toward the dining room table, but Butcher’s voice stops him.

“Oi, kid, why don’t you put something on?” He nods at the television as he says it. “N’take your supper with you.”

Ryan seems surprised and doesn’t immediately obey. In fact, he looks at Hughie, who despite his confusion nods. “Go on,” Hughie says, “it’s okay.”

Ryan takes his plate and wanders into the living room. He queues up something on the TV and sits on the floor, his back to Hughie and Butcher.

“How much have you told Neuman about him?” Butcher asks. His gaze is trained on Ryan, but his voice is directed at Hughie.

Hughie frowns. “Nothing. I just said I had a kid at home, that’s all. She didn’t ask about him or anything. She seemed more concerned with getting my schedule figured out.”

Butcher hums.

Hughie doesn’t bother reaching for his pizza. “You still don’t trust her, do you?”

Butcher was plenty vocal about his distrust of Congress at large when they had Lamplighter, and he made it no secret that the distrust extended to Neuman despite her urgency to help them. Now, Butcher just shrugs. “Don’t trust anyone.”

Hughie rolls his eyes. “Right, which is why you dragged me along to play house.” His cheeks flush lightly when the words leave his mouth, and the blush worsens when Butcher’s eyes finally turn to him. “You know what I mean.” Hughie finally picks up a slice from his plate and bites into it. “We’re taking the Kia to the meeting with the principal, by the way.”

Butcher just rolls his eyes. He waits until Hughie is taking a second bite to say, “Yes, _dear_ ,” and then lets out an undignified snort at the way Hughie chokes on his pizza.

* * *

They do drive the Kia to the meeting, which makes it even funnier when Butcher insists on driving. It’s not like it’s a tiny car, and he and Hughie are the same height. There’s just something about seeing a man like Butcher—bearded, with sunglasses and his classic tropical shirt and leather jacket—crammed into a sensible car like a Kia. Ryan’s in the backseat, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket nervously.

Hughie twists in the passenger seat to look back at him. “It’s gonna be fine, Ryan. Mallory said the principal is a good man. This is all just a formality.”

Ryan gives him an anxious smile and Hughie figures it’s the best he’s going to get out of the kid. The drive isn’t long, at least; the school is only a scant fifteen minutes away. When they pull into the parking lot, there are more cars than Hughie expects. It makes his heart clench nervously, uncertainly.

“Teachers gettin’ their classrooms ready, most likely,” Butcher says, quieting Hughie’s unspoken fear with ease. “Principal said we can go to the front of the school, he’ll be there to meet us.” He climbs out of the car without further ado and waits on the curb for Hughie and Ryan to follow. Hughie climbs out of the car and waits for Ryan to get out before clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder. Butcher must tap the lock button on the key fob because the car honks obnoxiously loud, startling Hughie and Ryan both.

The walk around to the front door of the school is quiet. Ryan’s looking around like he can’t believe what he sees, which makes sense. He’s probably never seen anything like it outside of any elementary schools he’s seen in movies. The campus is eerily silent. There’s something inherently unsettling about a school devoid of students, Hughie decides.

Sure enough though, the principal meets them by the front door, all smiles and rosy cheeks and pudgy stomach. When he speaks, his voice is deceptively deep, in that way that’s soothing and a little hypnotizing. Butcher shakes his hand first, then Hughie, then Ryan, each of them taking turns to introduce themselves.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” he says after introductions are out of the way. “If you’ll follow me, we can take this into my office. Shouldn’t keep you long, I suspect Mallory has told you most everything.”

Hughie nods since Butcher doesn’t seem inclined to reply. “She said the school can be discreet, and that Ryan will be safe here.”

The principal nods but doesn’t reply until they’re in his office, the door shutting with a soft click behind him. “She’s right. We’ve already worked out swapping some of our security staff with ones chosen by Mallory herself, just in case. This school is a quiet one, though, and I don’t see many issues arising. There are currently no Supes on staff or in our student body, and as far as anyone knows, that’s still the case.”

Hughie lets out a sigh of relief, and beside him he can feel Ryan do the same.

“Please, have a seat.” The principal gestures to the three chairs in front of his desk before rounding the room to his own seat. On his desk is a heavy nameplate that reads **_DAVID PRICE_** , and a few family photos.

Hughie and Ryan both take seats but Butcher stays standing. Hughie shoots the principal a look, one meant to read _don’t mind him, he’s stubborn_. Judging from the man’s answering smile, he understands the look all too well.

“Mallory said that Ryan’s powers are quite latent for now, is that correct?”

All eyes turn to Ryan then, and he nods. “I don’t…I don’t really know how they work.”

“That’s perfectly fine. If at any point you feel like you need to be separated from the students or a teacher, just come to the office. My assistant doesn’t have all the details, but I’ve told her you’re a special case and that you’re to be allowed into my office whenever you need it.”

Hughie can’t help the grateful way his heart thuds. “That’s really kind of you, sir.”

Principal Price waves away the thanks. “Mallory is an old friend, and she’s spoken highly of you three.” His gaze seems to linger a bit on Butcher, like maybe he can’t quite believe it. “I look forward to helping Ryan lead a normal life.”

Hughie looks over at Ryan, pleased to see the kid grinning wider than he had in the car. “So do we,” Hughie says, twisting to look at Butcher.

Butcher meets his gaze for only a moment, but Hughie might go so far as to say there’s something like agreement in his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know how to feel. On the one hand, I’m grateful that there’s any semblance of normalcy at all. On the other hand, it feels a little like waiting for the other shoe to drop, all the time. But I never know if that shoe is a Supe attacking us, or Butcher flying off the handle, or Ryan having another fit with his powers.”
> 
> “He seems pretty mellow to me.”
> 
> “He is. He’s such a good kid. I just…worry. I worry all the time, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! we're upping the ante a bit, but hughie and butcher are as stubborn as ever (esp butcher)
> 
> thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting! y'all really make my day!

It feels good to be working again. Sure, working with the Boys kept Hughie busy, but it wasn’t really _work_. It was espionage, subterfuge, anything other than a nine-to-five. Working for Neuman’s campaign feels more like Hughie remembers from working at Gary’s, albeit considerably less dull and with fewer cars crashing through windows.

(Yes, it only happened once, but once was enough.)

He finishes his work on the website Wednesday night, a few hours after they get home from their meeting with Principal Price. He fires off an email to Victoria before clocking off for the day, feeling ready and raring to go to work the next morning.

He sits up and stretches, wincing when his neck and back pop loudly. A glance at the clock tells him it’s right around dinner time, and when he strains his ears he realizes the house is weirdly quiet. He staggers as he rises from his chair, takes a moment to stretch his legs too, before meandering out of his bedroom. Butcher’s office door at the end of the hallway is closed, like usual, but there’s not the tell-tale sound of him stomping around in there. Ryan’s door is ajar, but a quick glance inside tells Hughie it’s devoid of the kid. There’s not really any sound coming from downstairs, either, so Hughie takes the steps cautiously and quietly.

What he finds nearly bowls him over: the television is on, but the volume must be turned down; Ryan is curled up on the couch, face slack with sleep; Butcher stands behind the couch, arms crossed as always, but his face is surprisingly soft and open. Hughie swallows at the sight of vulnerability, unsurprised when it vanishes a moment later once Butcher spots Hughie.

“Hey,” Hughie says quietly. “Everything good down here?”

Butcher nods. “Not gonna bloody kill the kid.”

Hughie wasn’t thinking that, really; he goes back and forth on how likely Butcher is to take his hurt out on Ryan, and almost always falls in the camp of “not remotely likely.” Hughie doesn’t know much about Butcher’s dad, but if he had to guess why he is the way he is, well… Hughie doesn’t dignify Butcher’s snark with a reply. “We should do dinner.”

Butcher shrugs. “Kid’s out like a light.”

“I’m hungry,” Hughie says simply. He walks into the kitchen and pulls open the cupboard that serves as their pantry. It’s not late, per se, but his eyes are tired from staring at a screen for so long. He’s no longer used to that, not the way he once was. He imagines the stress and nerves are what tuckered Ryan out. Hughie eventually gives in and grabs the peanut butter and jelly. By the time he turns around, Butcher’s grabbed the bread from the basket by the sink and passes it over. “You want one?”

Butcher nods.

It’s another moment of odd domesticity as Hughie lays out the slices of bread, grabs a butter knife from the drawer, and starts to slather alternating slices with peanut butter and jelly. Butcher stands just across the counter from him and they stay in easy, companionable silence. Hughie slides the first sandwich over to Butcher, grabs a plate for one, and then holds the third in his hands.

Except Butcher doesn’t eat the sandwich, just stares at it.

Around a bit of his own, Hughie asks, “What, you want me to cut the crusts off?”

Butcher’s lips twitch at the corners, and he slides the sandwich wordlessly back. Hughie rolls his eyes but picks up the butter knife again, even though it’s still got traces of jelly and peanut butter on it. He trims the crusts, all the while holding his own sandwich between his teeth. He sweeps the crusts to the side and passes Butcher’s sandwich back to him.

“Happy now?”

“Fuckin’ peachy.”

Hughie rolls his eyes again, but can’t help his smile.

* * *

Victoria can’t seem to overstate how impressed she is with Hughie when he gets into the office the next day. Despite his protests—all he did was some light web design, stuff any college freshman could’ve tackled—she’s all too happy to sing his praises. It’s as embarrassing as it is enjoyable, but she stops when Hughie’s cheeks start to pink.

“Come with me,” She says, jerking her head toward her office door. She doesn’t wait for him to respond, and Hughie scrambles to follow after her. “I’ve got another special project for you, but this one is a bit more involved. Think you can handle it?”

Hughie nods slowly. “Absolutely.”

Like last time, she passes him a small stack of papers except this time they’re wrapped in a manilla folder. Hughie takes it and holds it with both hands.

“One of our servers is worried about potential security hacks. People aren’t happy I’m running for president _and_ trying to take Vought down, so we want to make sure our systems are airtight.” She taps the folder. “This will get you surface level access, and I’d like you to dig into it and see if you spot any holes or gaps in the coding and programming.”

Hughie blinks. “Uh, okay. That sounds…intense.”

Victoria just smiles at him. “I have no doubt you can handle it. I’d like if you can have a thorough sweep done before you come in on Monday, alright?”

Hughie nods before staring down at the file and trying not to let his surprise show. “You can count on me,” he tells her.

* * *

Hughie doesn’t wait for Butcher to come creeping out of his office. The second he’s home, he darts upstairs, pausing long enough only to say hi to Ryan, and then beelines for Butcher’s office. He doesn’t even plan to knock, but when he tries the doorknob, it’s locked. He tries it again, just to be sure, but when the door doesn’t budge and there’s no sound from inside, Hughie starts slamming his palm against the door. He gets in three good hits before the door wrenches open and Butcher steps out, sending Hughie stumbling back a few steps.

“What’s your problem?” Butcher asks. He’s clad in sweats and a tropical printed tee and his hair is still a mess like he hasn’t bothered to comb it all day. He’s sneering, but Hughie doesn’t let it stop him.

“Tell me about the task force,” Hughie demands.

Butcher’s eyes narrow. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I asked?” Hughie groans. “Victoria has me checking their servers for any potential security issues, and it seems like a really big deal. I want to know about the task force, in case you’ve got anything that might be related.”

“We’re not investigating hackers,” Butcher says, “we’re investigating _Supes_.”

“Like those are somehow mutually exclusive?” Hughie shakes his head. “I’m not asking for a full fucking dossier on your whole operation, I just want to know if there’s anything you’ve got about threats against Neuman, or her campaign. They seem pretty concerned about this.”

“They fuckin’ should be, Neuman’s working double time to paint a bloody target on her back.”

“So help me keep her safe. I know you don’t trust her, and I’m not saying she’s going to save the world or anything, but she’s doing good work.”

“I don’t have nothing for you, lad,” Butcher says. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t expect you to handle it, I’d take care of it myself.”

Hughie groans again, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “I know I’m not part of your special little task force but I’m not an _invalid_. Just because I agreed to come here doesn’t mean it’s all I’m good for.”

“And just because I asked for your fucking help doesn’t mean I gotta tell you everything,” Butcher barks back, voice low. “You wanted out, you said so. You said you were done with this,” he gestures to his office door, “so I’m letting you be done with it. And just because we’re here playin’ house doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”

With that, Butcher turns and stalks back into his office, slamming the door behind him.

Hughie doesn’t realize he’s panting until there’s a hand at his elbow, and he turns to see Ryan staring at him, concerned.

“Is everything okay?”

Hughie forces himself to relax, gulping in lung-fulls of air until he no longer feels so crazed. “Everything’s fine, Ryan. Just a little disagreement.” He leans down and whispers, “Butcher can be pretty stubborn sometimes, you know.”

Ryan laughs and nods. “So can you,” he says.

Hughie gapes at Ryan. “You’re a brat,” he says without heat before ruffling the kid’s hair.

* * *

Hughie wakes up to two things: the scent of bacon wafting up from the kitchen, and a sticky note stuck to his forehead. Hughie flails to grab at the sticky note and ends up knocking it off his head onto the bed beside him. He rubs the sleepsand from his eyes and plucks the sticky note from his bedding.

It takes him a moment to decipher Butcher’s messy scrawl, but when he does he scowls at the flimsy pink piece of paper.

**ON A MISSION. WILL TEXT YOU.**

Hughie crumples the sticky note in his fist and rolls out of bed. He drops the paper in the garbage in his bathroom and goes through his morning routine in a daze. It’s only as he’s spitting out his mouthwash that his brain comes online properly and he scowls at the trash bin and the little flash of pink on top.

He doesn’t linger on the annoyance, though, distracted by the scent of bacon again. He follows the scent out of his bedroom and down the stairs and, predictably, into the kitchen.

The kitchen where MM stands at the stove, diligently moving bacon around in a pan. Ryan’s sitting at one of the stools up against the island, watching MM with fascination. As Hughie steps closer, Ryan looks over at him with bright eyes.

“Morning Hughie!”

“Morning, Ryan.” Hughie passes the kid and runs a hand through his hair before coming to stand by MM. “Hey,” he says, peering curiously at the various pans on the stove. One has scrambled eggs, one has the bacon, and another has sausage.

“Good to see you,” MM says with a nod. “Butcher said he was going out of town for a bit, figured I’d drop by.”

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Hughie says, flapping a hand at the food even as his stomach growls.

“Don’t think I forgot what it was like living with you. Someone’s gotta feed you and the kid.” MM softens the blow of his teasing with a wide smile. “Go on, sit, let me do this.”

Hughie obeys and slides into the chair beside Ryan. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to find a text from Butcher already waiting for him.

**From: Butcher**  
_made it safe. Should be back next week_

Hughie frowns and even though he knows Butcher will only roll his eyes, he fires off a response.

**To: Butcher**  
_You’re going to miss Ryan’s first day of school_

He doesn’t wait for a reply before pocketing his phone. MM catches his eye as he slides a plate loaded with a classic breakfast over to Hughie. Ryan’s already digging into his plate eagerly. “Thanks,” Hughie says, accepting a fork from MM. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” MM shrugs. “Nice place you got here.”

Hughie nods, mouth full of eggs.

MM glances at Ryan, smiles, and then back at Hughie. “How are things going?”

Hughie stops with a piece of bacon raised to his mouth. “Alright. I’ve got a job with Neuman’s office, Ryan starts school next week. Butcher is…Butcher.”

MM laughs. “Yeah, that tracks. Not giving you too much trouble, right?”

“No more than usual.” Hughie gives MM a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

“What about you, kiddo? You like it here?”

Ryan stops. There’s a clump of eggs at the corner of his mouth. He starts to open his mouth but then, eyes darting to Hughie, he chews hurried and swallows. Hughie feels something like pride twist in his chest—surely Becca taught Ryan manners, but Hughie’s at least making sure the kid doesn’t backslide.

“I like it, yeah,” Ryan says. “It’s weird, and different. And school sounds…scary.” He looks down at his plate and pushes some of the eggs around, rolling a sausage along the edge of the plate idly. “But it’s good.”

MM nods approvingly. “Glad to hear it. Hey, you got my number?” MM starts to reach for his phone but is stopped by Ryan nodding.

“Hughie gave it to me. He said I can call you in case of emergencies.”

MM gives Hughie an appraising look, Hughie might even go so far as to call it impressed.

“Just in case,” Hughie says with a shrug. “You’re family too.”

MM’s expression softens. “You’re damn right I am.”

* * *

MM hangs around for most of the day, happy to keep Ryan busy while Hughie gets started on his work for Neuman’s campaign. Hughie does most of his work upstairs, but every so often he ventures downstairs and finds Ryan either watching something, animatedly explaining something to MM, or MM showing Ryan something in the kitchen. Every time, it makes Hughie’s heart skip a beat pleasantly, even more so when he catches sight of a wide grin on Ryan’s face.

Hughie calls it a day around early evening and the house is once again brimming with the scent of good cooking. He’s made it through most of the server and hasn’t found anything to be concerned about yet; he’ll probably stay up tonight after Ryan’s gone to bed to finish it off, so that he can spend the weekend with the kid.

“Seriously, MM,” he says as he comes into the kitchen, “this is way too much.”

“Ryan’s helping.” And so he is, carefully dicing up an onion.

Hughie’s chest clenches as he watches the knife glide through the onion; he tamps down the knee-jerk reaction of seeing Ryan handle a knife and instead watches the kid dice slow and steady. MM’s clearly taught him the right way to hold a knife and emphasized the importance of going slow.

Hughie draws in a shaky breath. This is what Ryan should get all the time—Hughie and Butcher should be teaching him things, showing him the ropes, more than just music or movies. “Looking good, Ryan.”

Ryan preens. MM comes up beside Ryan and the kid steps aside. “Wash your hands and don’t touch your eyes, trust me.”

Ryan obeys and MM takes the cutting board covered in onions over to the stovetop. It’s fun, simple, watching MM cook and explain things to Ryan. If Hughie thought moments before were domestic, it’s nothing compared to this. It’s not a bad thing, he likes the quieter moments he has with Butcher, but the foreign feeling of being a bad parent washes over Hughie quietly.

MM must pick up on his melancholy, because after Ryan’s run upstairs to brush his teeth, MM pulls out a bottle of wine from the fridge. He must have brought it along, because Hughie hasn’t bothered with buying booze and neither has Butcher as far as he knows.

“You’re doing your best,” MM says as he pours them both hefty glasses. It’s a deep red as it sloshes into the glasses, the scent of berry and grape wafting up to their noses. “Just because neither of you know how to cook doesn’t mean you’re failing Ryan.”

Hughie groans and hides his face in his hands. “It’s not just that. Butcher doesn’t interact with him a lot. Or, he tries, but…I don’t know. He’s hot and cold. Like one second he can’t stand to be in the same room as Ryan, and the next he’s content to watch the _Lego Movie_ a fifth time.”

MM snorts. “I imagine it’s hard.”

“It’s easier than what we were doing before. A lot less violent.” Hughie shrugs and takes a long swig of his wine. “I don’t know how to feel. On the one hand, I’m grateful that there’s any semblance of normalcy at all. On the other hand, it feels a little like waiting for the other shoe to drop, all the time. But I never know if that shoe is a Supe attacking us, or Butcher flying off the handle, or Ryan having another fit with his powers.”

“He seems pretty mellow to me.”

“He is. He’s such a good kid. I just…worry. I worry all the time, man.”

MM is quiet for a second. He takes a long, contemplative sip of his wine. “That’s parenthood,” he says eventually. “Worrying—about your kid, about yourself, about your partner. And it’s tiring, but it’s so rewarding when things go right. And I think you’re doing things right, doing your best to treat Ryan right. It’s not easy, and it’s probably only gonna get harder, but it’s worth it.”

Hughie nods along as MM speaks. He knows that, has always known it, but it feels good to hear someone else say it. “Thanks,” he says, voice quiet and shaky.

A hand lands on his shoulder, heavy but comforting. “Hit me up if you need help, okay? I know Butcher’s got it in his head that I never want back in, but for you? For Ryan? For Frenchie, and Kimiko? I’m there, man. Like you said, we’re family.”

Hughie looks up and has time to smile shakily at MM before Ryan’s calling out from upstairs. “I gotta go tuck him in,” Hughie says as he rises from the chair.

MM grins. “Go,” he says. “I’ll clean up down here and get out of your hair.”

“But, the wine,” Hughie says as he stops at the edge of the kitchen.

“I think you maybe need it more than I do tonight, Hughie.” MM drains his own glass and then turns to the mess left behind from cooking dinner. “Go tuck Ryan in.”

Hughie goes.


End file.
